


Pre-School AU

by moonlitserenades



Series: Like a Remix [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Mr. Ferre’ is crouching on the ground in front of a small boy who is crying as though his heart is broken, murmuring something and watching him seriously. Even from here, Courfeyrac can tell that despite all the attention he’s giving to the boy, he’s very aware of what else is happening in his classroom; especially when, mid-sentence, he gets to his feet and lunges halfway across the room just in time to stop another child from falling off the chair she’d been standing on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pre-School AU

Courfeyrac is about to settle in for a relaxing afternoon of truly terrible television when his phone goes off. “Hello?”

“Hey, I need you to do me a huge favor.” Éponine sounds harassed, and wherever she is, he can hear quite a lot of yelling; he sits up and turns off the television, on alert. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to go pick up my neighbor’s kid from preschool, but Gav got himself suspended. Can you get her?”

“Yeah, of course, will they let me?”

“You just have to go check in with the office. As long as you bring a photo ID there shouldn’t be a problem—I gave them your name over the phone.”

“No problem. I’ll let you know when I’ve dropped her off.”

“You’re a gift.” She hangs up before he can respond.

He’s babysat with Éponine before, which is why he knows both where he’s going, who he’s getting, and where to bring her; but he’s never actually gotten her from school before, so he’s a little anxious that everything should work out. Fortunately, the people at the office accept his license as valid proof that he’s who he said he is, and send him down the hall to “classroom three.” 

“We’d call her down,” says the grandmotherly type woman behind the desk, “but Combeferre’s assistant is out sick today and there’s no one to make sure she doesn’t get lost along the way.”

“It’s no problem,” he assures her, with a charming grin. “I’m sure I can manage.”

Classroom three is literally straight down the hall, the third door (thank you) on the left. He hovers uncertainly outside for a moment, unsure of what to do; inside, he can hear the muffled strains of instrumental music and the giggles and shrieks of assorted small children. Eventually, he pulls himself together and knocks. 

He can’t hear what happens afterward, but it’s his charge who throws the door open, red hair flying free of the braids she’d clearly been wearing at the start of the afternoon, beaming a bright, gap-toothed grin. “Courfy!” she shrieks, and hurls herself at him immediately.

He laughs and catches her, spinning her around to make her squeal with delight. “Sami-girl, I have to talk to your teacher for a second, okay?”

“Mr. Ferre let me answer the door!” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I know. I saw, and you did an excellent job.” He restores her, carefully, to her feet. “Why don’t you go play with your friends for another minute, okay?”

“Okay!” she sing-songs, and skips away.

‘Mr. Ferre’ is crouching on the ground in front of a small boy who is crying as though his heart is broken, murmuring something and watching him seriously. Even from here, Courfeyrac can tell that despite all the attention he’s giving to the boy, he’s very aware of what else is happening in his classroom; especially when, mid-sentence, he gets to his feet and lunges halfway across the room just in time to stop another child from falling off the chair she’d been standing on. “What did we say about chairs?” he asks, gently reproving.

She chews her lower lip. “I ‘unno.”

“Think about it for a second. I’m sure you remember.”

“…we’re not apposeta put our feet on them?”

“Why not?”

“’Cause we could get hurt?”

“Exactly. You can sit in your chair, though.”

“But I was being a ‘splorer.”

“You can be an explorer on the rug, too.” He bends down to whisper, dramatically. “I think there’s something secret hiding in that cubby over there…”

Delighted with her new game, she trots off in search of his secret; Courfeyrac gives him another moment to check in with the boy, now completely recovered, before he approaches. “Hi,” he blurts out. “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to make sure you knew I was picking up Sami today.”

He turns, and smiles warmly. If Courfeyrac was the sort of person who blushed easily, he’d be blushing now, because the man is gorgeous. The literal epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, and Courfeyrac had never realized he’d had a thing for glasses, but apparently he does now. “Yes, they called me from the office—Emilio, put that down please—to let me know. I’m Combeferre.”

“Courfeyrac.” He grins back, and holds out his hand to shake. 

Combeferre bites his lip and holds up both hands, covered in dried finger paints and marker. “We ended with crafts today,” he says apologetically, and calls, “Bye, Marie, see you tomorrow,” as a girl skips out the door with her mother.

“I don’t mind,” Courfeyrac says, shrugging, and Combeferre shakes his hand. His hand is warm and slightly calloused and oh, Courfeyrac is so, so screwed.

“Is Éponine alright?” Combeferre asks, brow furrowed in concern, and then turns away again for a brief moment to say goodbye to a few more of his kids and scold a little boy for pulling his friend’s hair.

“Oh yeah, she’s fine. Her brother got suspended.” He shakes his head fondly.

“Not that it’s a good thing, but I’m glad she isn’t sick or something. Gabrielle—sorry, excuse me—”

Courfeyrac watches, admittedly enthralled, as Combeferre sweeps across the classroom to sternly lecture a little girl who had decided that the best way to react to not getting what she wanted would be to throw something across the room. When he returns, she is trailing sullenly beside him, her lower lip sticking out in a pout. “If you’re going to throw things, you have to stay with me until your mommy gets here,” he says quietly. There aren’t many kids left now—only two, besides Gabrielle and Sami, who is scribbling contentedly all over a piece of construction paper.

“You’re amazing with them,” Courfeyrac says, and doesn’t even bother feeling embarrassed by the awe in his voice.

Combeferre shrugs, a hint of red crawling up his neck. “They’re really great kids.”

“Still, it can’t be easy.” 

“No,” he admits, and laughs, “but it’s impossibly rewarding, so I don’t mind it at all.” He waves, smiling, to the brother and sister who are getting picked up, and returns his attention to Courfeyrac. “I don’t want to keep you from your afternoon—”

“I didn’t have plans,” Courfeyrac blurts out, and then remembers himself. “I suppose I should get Sami home, though…”

“Well—it was nice to meet you, Courfeyrac. Send Éponine my best, will you?”

“Of course.” He turns back toward Sami. “Sweetheart, c’mere. We’re gonna go see your mom and dad.”

“Yay!” she squeals, throwing crayons everywhere in her excitement.

“You have to put those away first, though. It’s not very nice to leave Mr. Ferre with a big mess to clean up, is it?”

“No…” Sighing loudly, she kneels down and starts picking up the crayons.

Over her shoulder, he can see that a woman who must be Gabrielle’s mother has arrived, and that Combeferre has crossed the room and is talking to her quietly. She is nodding, looking vaguely frustrated until he says something to make her laugh. Then she smiles, hugs him, and gently leads her child out the door.

“We’re going to be off, Mr. Ferre,” says Courfeyrac with a grin, after he has double checked that all the crayons are back where they belong. “Unless you need help with anything?”

“No, it’s alright. Not a problem.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” He smiles. “I’m…sorry it’s so difficult to talk, here.”

“Maybe we could talk somewhere else,” Courfeyrac offers, before he has thought through the wisdom of this. But Combeferre’s smile widens, and he blushes again when he answers.

“If…if you—well, Éponine has my phone number.”

“Is that permission to get it?”

“If you’d like it.” He is suddenly, disarmingly casual. 

“I made this for you,” Sami says loudly, out of nowhere, and presses the construction paper into Combeferre’s hand. 

He makes a show of examining it, and exclaiming over it, and thanks her profusely, and Courfeyrac laughs. “I think someone’s getting impatient, but I, uh…I’ll talk to you soon, I hope.”

“I look forward to it.” He kneels a moment to say a cheerful, “Bye, Sami, thank you for the beautiful picture,” and Courfeyrac leaves with an extra spring in his step.

**Author's Note:**

> don't even ask.
> 
> find me on tumblr @moonlitserenades


End file.
